My Lord (quoth he) it is not that I feare, More then your selfe, that so I haue not gone; But that I haue beene forced to be neare The King, whose person I attend vpon, And that I doubt not but to make appeare Now, if occasion shall but call me on, Looke round about my Lord, if you can see, Some braue aduenture worthy you and me. [Stanza 229: _A desperate attempt by the Earle of Huntingdon._] See yan proud Banner, of the Duke of Barres, Me thinkst it wafts vs, and I heare it say, Wher’s that couragious Englishman that darres, Aduenture, but to carry me away, This were a thing, now worthy of our warres; I’st true, quoth Suffolke, by this blessed day, On, and weele haue it, sayst thou so indeed, Quoth Huntingdon, then Fortune be our speed. [Stanza 230] And through the Ranckes then rushing in their pride, They make a Lane; about them so they lay, Foote goes with foote, and side is ioynde to side, They strike downe all that stand within their way, And to direct them, haue no other guide, But as they see the multitude to sway; And as they passe, the French as to defie, Saint George for England and the King they cry. [Stanza 231: _One braue exploit begetteth another._] By their examples, each braue English blood, Vpon the Frenchmen for their Ensignes runne, Thick there as trees within a well-growne wood; Where great Atchiements instantly were done, Against them toughly whilst that Nation stood, But ô what man his destinie can shunne That Noble Suffolke there is ouerthrowne, When he much valour sundry wayes hath showne. [Stanza 232: _The Earle of Suffolke slaine._] Which the proud English further doth prouoke, Who to destruction bodily were bent, That the maine Battaile instantly they broke, Vpon the French so furiously they went And not an English but doth scorne a stroake, If to the ground it not a Frenchman sent, Who weake with wounds, their weapons from them threw, With which the English fearefully them slue. [Stanza 233: _The English kill the French with their owne weapons._] Alanzon backe vpon the Reareward borne, By those vnarm’d that from the English fled, All further hopes then vtterly forlorne, His Noble heart in his full Bosome bled; What Fate, quoth he, our ouerthrowe hath sworne, Must France a Prisoner be to England led, Well, if she be so, yet Ile let her see, She beares my Carkasse with her, and not me. [Stanza 234] And puts his Horse vpon his full Careere, When with the courage of a valiant Knight (As one that knew not, or forgot to feare) He tow’rds King Henry maketh in the fight, And all before him as he downe doth beare, Vpon the Duke of Glocester doth light: Which on the youthfull Chiualry doth bring, Scarse two Pykes length that came before the King. [Stanza 235: _The Duke of Glocester ouerthrowne by the Duke of Alanzon._]